


The Midwinter Lady

by lotus0kid



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Rumbelle Secret Santa 2018, Spinner Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 10:09:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17119361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lotus0kid/pseuds/lotus0kid
Summary: Belle brings aid to Rumpelstiltskin’s village during the Ogre War.





	The Midwinter Lady

**Author's Note:**

> For the 2018 Rumbelle Secret Santa, using lovetvshowsposts's prompt "AU Rumbelle Christmas fallinginlove". Hope you like it!

Lord Maurice might have thought he was being clever when he finally gave in to his daughter’s requests to travel outside the Marshlands, but Belle is determined to enjoy every minute of her trip.  Or, well, one doesn’t exactly _enjoy_ providing aid to Frontlands villages threatened by the ogre invasion.  Nonetheless, Belle stolidly appreciates the change of scenery.  The air is crisp around her, the sun a soft white glow in a dove gray sky.  She doesn’t really mind all that much that she and her coachman Bernard are somewhat lost.  It’s all this snow- everywhere looks the same.

From her perch next to Bernard, Belle holds up a map, hoping it might imprint itself on the world and draw neat labels wherever she sets her eyes.  That doesn’t happen, but when she lowers the map, her eyes do fall on two figures trudging along the slushy road ahead.

“Oh, good!” she exclaims, “Let’s ask these folk for directions.”

Bernard grunts and flicks the reins, urging the horses to come even with a man and a boy wearing threadbare cloaks, the latter hauling a large sack and the former grasping a walking staff.  The man’s arm shoots out to yank the boy close as they stumble into the snowbank beside the road, out of the cart’s way.  They cringe as it slows to a stop.

“Pardon me, good sir,” Belle greets him gently, pulling back the hood of her red, fur-trimmed cloak to show her face, “Do you know the way to Hollyhock?”

She glimpses deep brown eyes as they dart up to her in recognition, before the man ducks his head again.  “I, ah...  That is, m-my lady, uh...”

“Do you live there perhaps?  It would be most helpful if you could show us the way.  Climb on, there’s plenty of room.”

“N-no, I... W-we couldn’t...”

“Papa...” the boy murmurs.  He shifts under the weight of the sack that hangs off one narrow shoulder.

The man seems to expand a little, back straightening, head lifting.  He’s nearly able to meet Belle’s eyes as he says, “Very well, my lady.  We- we will show you.”

Belle plasters on her most winning smile, “Wonderful!  Thank you so much.  Come, come.”

They climb onto the cart, and Belle pretends not to hear the boy quietly marvel at the bounty stacked inside as he and his father find seats.

“I’m Lady Belle, from the Marshlands,” she says once they’re settled, “We’ve received word of the suffering in these parts since the ogre war started.”  Shadows immediately gather on the faces of her new friends.  She hurries to continue, “So, we thought to bring some food and supplies, to help you through the winter.  We’re going to the duke’s castle so he can-”

“No!”  The man has bolted upright, every wiry muscle gone rigid, wide eyes locked on Belle.  The boy also wears a look of alarm.

“What’s the matter?” she asks.

“The duke- he...  He’s on campaign.  Not home.  Don’t take all this to him.  Please.”

“You should just take it straight to the village,” the boy pipes up, “Everyone is celebrating midwinter, so they’ll all be in one place.”

Worry knots in Belle’s gut as she reads the desperation radiating from father and son.  She gives them both a gentle smile and nod.  “Very well, that’s what we’ll do.  Though, I’ll need your help.  I require escorts- someone to introduce me to the villagers, and help distribute the goods.  You would of course get first pick, as compensation.”

The boy returns her smile, if a little weakly.  The man does not.  He wrings his staff with both hands.  “I- I don’t know about that.  It wouldn’t be... proper.  I- I’m not... it shouldn’t be me.”

This makes Belle squint and stick out a lip.  “Then I’ll have no one but you.  Come on, I can’t just roll into the middle of a midwinter festival with no introduction.  Even if I’m there to help, that truly would be improper.  Won’t you help me make a good impression?”

“You just say she’s here to help,” the boy murmurs to his father, “They won’t say no.”

The bitter cast to the man’s face implies he thinks they might do just that, to Belle’s utter bafflement.  And yet, he lets out a sigh and says, “Yes, we will help you, my lady.”

“Lovely!” Belle beams, “Thank you most kindly.  Now, may I have the names of my charming escorts?”

“I’m Baelfire!” the boy declares brightly.

“Rumpelstiltskin.  I’m a spinner.  Ah, take the left fork here.”

Conversation after that is limited to directions and Baelfire and Rumpelstiltskin picking out what they need from the cart and stuffing it in their sack until it bulges in all directions.  Belle tries not to listen in, but when they’re done she can’t help hearing Rumpelstiltskin mutter in a stern tone, “You’ll take it and run.  Run as fast as you can.  Don’t stop for anything, not until you’re home.”

Baelfire’s reply comes in a matching tone, “I will, Papa.”

“Good.”

The cart travels on through snow-caked fields to a forested area dotted with homesteads.  All are still and silent, proving Baelfire’s assertion that the villagers have gathered for a festival.  Belle pulls up her hood and practices a cheery smile as the sounds of people drift on the breeze.  Eventually they come upon a place where the road widens and a small bonfire burns, surrounded by a group made up of women, children, and a few old men.  A weighty cauldron bubbles over the blaze, presumably containing a meager feast of stew.  Aside from the gathering there is no sign that a celebration is occurring.  There isn’t even music.

The cart comes to a halt, and Belle casts a look back to see Baelfire leap out with the sack and bolt down the road the way they came.  Rumpelstiltskin climbs out and comes around to offer his free hand to her.  She takes it with a smile and descends, allowing him to lead her the remaining distance between the cart and the villagers.  A few have noticed and regard the newcomers with only slight curiosity.  Belle doesn’t miss how their looks harden as Rumpelstiltskin clears his throat.

“Hello, everyone,” he says just a hair louder than normal speech, “I present Lady Belle of the Marshlands.  She comes with food and supplies to see Hollyhock through the winter.”

Soupy silence fills the air.  One woman, stone-faced and dressed in black, steps forward and dips into a curtsey.  “Is this true, my lady?” she inquires.

Belle glances toward Rumpelstiltskin, wondering why her word would be trusted over that of a fellow villager.  Still, she aims a grin at the woman and replies, “It certainly is, madam.  Everything in this cart is here for your benefit.  Yours and everyone else in Hollyhock.  Please, help yourselves.”  She moves aside with a gesture toward the cart.

The woman hesitates, gaze jumping between the cart, Belle, Rumpelstiltskin, and back.  Rumpelstiltskin says nothing, but there is something ever so slightly challenging in his face.  “I see,” she says, swiping her palms down her skirt, “Well then.”

She takes a step toward the cart, then another.  On her third, several other villagers are moving, and she herself runs to barely be first to snatch at the cart’s contents.

The very air seems to lighten as the people wonder at their new treasures.  Belle stands by with Rumpelstiltskin, and feels her smile wane and fall.

“Is something wrong?” she hears, and blinks at his furrowed brow.

“No, it’s just...  It’s not enough.  Not nearly enough, to help everyone.  I- I’m sorry, all of a sudden.”  She forces a laugh, “Isn’t that odd?”

He gives her a crooked smile and half-shrug.  “It’s more than we had yesterday.  We’ll make it last.  Thank you.”

Belle grimaces, “Please, I don’t need thanking.”  In her heart she knows all this is just her attempt to stave off boredom back home.  Hardly the picture of noble charity.

The cart is emptied in minutes, and the woman from before approaches with a sack of vegetables slung over one shoulder and three cast-off cloaks over the other.  Her stony face has melted into happiness.  “My lady, your kindness honors us all.  We thank you most humbly.  Please, come join our midwinter festival.  I am Arda.”

She extends a hand from beneath the cloaks, but Belle finds her own wrapping around Rumpelstiltskin’s arm.  “Indeed I shall.  Come, Rumpelstiltskin.”

Arda’s wide smile curdles slightly, but she manages to wave them both to seats by the bonfire.  Bernard is directed to take the cart and his horses to the village’s empty stable.  Over her protests a bowl of stew is pressed into Belle’s hands.  None is offered to Rumpelstiltskin.

“Are there any musicians among you?” Belle asks the group.  “This seems like a fine time for music.”

Arda gives a demure smile.  “Women are not instructed in the use of instruments, my lady.  Apologies.”

Another woman coughs and mumbles, “Actually, Gavin taught me some, before he left.”

Belle directs a bright beam on her, “That’s excellent!  Would you share what you learned?”

The woman waits for Arda’s circumspect nod, then darts away from the fire.  She soon returns with a well-worn fiddle and bow.  The tunes she plays are not without their awkward pauses or false notes, but they lessen as she relaxes and more smiles appear around the fire.  Clapping hands and stamping feet accompany her most confident tune, which she continues to play as a brave few get up to dance.

Bernard returns from the stable and immediately he finds himself somehow leading several women in a dance all at once.  Belle giggles at the perplexed look he shoots at her, and turns to find her amusement reflected on Rumpelstiltskin’s face.  Firelight flickers over it, making Belle quite suddenly aware of what a handsome face it is.

She turns away and tips her hood a little further down to hide the pink in her cheeks.  She does not need to be aware of how handsome Rumpelstiltskin is or isn’t, not least because she still has no clue what’s brought a whole village’s condemnation down on him.   She might have a grim notion as to where his wife is, what may have become of her, if not for the fact that Rumpelstiltskin seems as able to hurt a woman as he is to flap his arms and fly.  Unseemly curiosity almost as embarrassing as her attraction gnaws at Belle, and to her dismay she finds she can’t stifle either.

Rumpelstiltskin glances at her again and she holds his gaze, and delights in the bashful duck of his head, in the fall of his soft hair.  _Stop it, stop it, stop it_ , Belle internally commands while tapping her foot and nodding to the beat along with him.  She’s half-formed an invitation to dance when she looks past Rumpelstiltskin at Arda’s freshly sour face.  The woman stops a young boy as he ambles by and whispers in his ear.  His dirty face lights up and he races off to a group of his fellows.  The sour look has now turned smug.

The dancing continues though Belle notices the children and old men have vanished.  She tries to enjoy the music, even as she dreads whatever Arda has in store.  She doesn’t have to wait long.  A male voice bellows out from the darkness beyond the fire.  Arda leaps to her feet, eyes round as she strikes a terrified pose and cries, “Ogres!  Oh no, whoever will defend the Frontlands?”

“We will!” respond a group of young voices.  Children armed with stick swords and pots for helmets rush forward to meet the village’s old men in pitched mock-battle.

Some children begin to extravagantly die under the branches carefully swung over their heads and Arda declares, “Our soldiers are falling!  What hero is there to save us?”

The boy she stopped before leaps into the fray screaming at the top of his reedy voice, “I, BEOWULF, WILL SAVE YOU ALL!”

He swings the stick at the faux ogres, landing a few sharp hits that have the old men glaring.  But they duly drop dead until the pint-sized Beowulf stands alone in victory.

“I’M THE HERO OF THE FRONTLANDS!” he shrieks, waving his stick and a tiny fist in the air.

The women cheer and Belle almost joins them, until Rumpelstiltskin levers himself up and marches away from the fire.

“Oh, uh, I- I suppose I’ll take my rest now,” Belle says to Arda, “Bernard and I must leave at dawn, if not sooner, so I’ll thank you now for your great hospitality and say good night.”

Arda blinks in surprise, but manages to return the parting words before Belle spins around and trots after Rumpelstiltskin.  When she catches up he tosses a look her way and mutters, “What are you doing?”

“Um, well, I’ll need to impose on you a little more.  Just let me sleep a bit by the fire, then I’ll leave.  Is that all right?”

His look turns befuddled.  “Is it...?  You- you are unmarried, yes?”

She nods, and is grateful for the shadows that hide her newly flushed cheeks.  She’s meant to be safely ensconced in the best guest chambers of the duke’s castle.  Lord Maurice would be scandalized if he knew she meant to doze on the floor of a spinner’s hovel.  _And so he doesn’t have to know_ , she thinks with a thrill of rebellion that lets her lift her chin and say, “I trust you won’t do anything to impugn my honor.  I have a good sense about people.”

“I see,” he replies in a low voice full of doubt that stings Belle’s heart.  This village is poisoning Rumpelstiltskin against himself, and she’s dying to know why.  A growing part of her also wants to know how it can be stopped.

They walk to a small cottage where a fire is burning.  Rumpelstiltskin thrusts open the door and lets out a soft sigh at the sight of Baelfire asleep by the hearth, his head pillowed on the sack he carried earlier.

“We stayed too long, walked too far,” Rumpelstiltskin mumbles bitterly, “He’s tired out.”

“Where were you coming from?”

“Longbourne.”

Belle gapes, “That’s miles off!  And you walked through the snow?”

Rumpelstiltskin fixes a miserable stare on nothing and shrugs.  “That’s where the people live who will buy from me.”

And with that statement, Belle’s curiosity spills over.  “What does that mean?” she demands, shoving back her hood, “What is _happening_ in this village?  Why are you treated so abominably here?”

“War is happening, my lady.  It breeds ugliness.”

“That’s not an answer.  Is it... is it to do with your limp?”

Rumpelstiltskin flinches and his hands grip at his staff.

“I thought perhaps you were born with it,” Belle presses, “And that- that made people...”

A sickly smile stretches across his face.  “Oh no.  That would’ve been acceptable, you see.  I’ve _earned_ my dishonor.”

“How?”

She’s being unforgivably rude to her host, and yet she doesn’t back down as Rumpelstiltskin locks a dark gaze on her.  He wants to speak, she can tell.  He’s been carrying this shame on his own for a long time.  He can unburden himself with a stranger like her.  She wants him to.  “I was conscripted and sent to the front.  On the eve of battle, I maimed myself, and ran.”

His blunt words are meant to shock her, to win the disgust he thinks he deserves.  She refuses to give it to him.  “I see.  But, something tells me there’s more to your story than that.”

Her simple suggestion is all it takes to shred his coward’s mask.  His shoulders droop and his eyes soften.  “It... it was my son.  I learned my wife was pregnant and I just...  I couldn’t...”  He swallows, and real strength seeps into his frame, allowing him to lift his head and meet Belle’s gaze with clear eyes.  “I wouldn’t leave him.  Not like- like I was left.”  
  
“Your father died in battle?”

Exhausted sadness swallows his strength.  “No.  He just- left me.  And I couldn’t... I didn’t care, not about the duke, or the war, I just needed to see my boy.  To be there for him.  And I knew if I stayed...  There was a seer.  The duke had caged her to get information.  And she told me...”  He pauses, grimaces internally, “Well, what did she say exactly, eh?  She was right in the end, sure enough.  But then, that night, I believed I would die if I stayed.”

“So you did what you had to do.  For your son.”

Something akin to hope gleams in his eyes, but he shakes his head.  “I ruined everything.  I made our lives a misery.  I drove my wife away, and now she’s-”

His words choke off and his head drops and his shoulders shake.  Belle unthinkingly steps forward, gathers him close.  He tenses, but doesn’t pull back.

“She’s gone, and it’s all my fault.”

“I’m sorry,” Belle whispers, while thinking if this woman couldn’t understand what a paragon of devotion she’d married, she only had herself to blame.  Belle draws back but keeps a gentle hold on his wrists.  “Did you say the duke had a seer in a cage?”

Rumpelstiltskin nods.  “She was a wee thing too.  Not older than Bae is now.”

“That’s awful.”

“He’s an awful man.  If you took your cart of goods to the castle, us peasants in Hollyhock would never get a crumb of it.  He’d keep it for himself, and his men.  He’s let this war drag on when he could stop it with a word.  He has power over the Dark One.  Did you know?”

“We’ve heard rumors.  Most don’t believe it.”

“It’s true.  But he doesn’t send the Dark One after ogres.  He sets the beast on us.  To harvest more soldiers, and punish anyone who speaks out.  The conscription age is already sixteen.  I... I fear how low it will go.”

He looks to Baelfire, still peacefully asleep, and Belle’s stomach turns to stone.  “Enough.  I’ve heard enough.”

He blinks.  “What do you mean?”

“I mean I’m not leaving you here,” she replies, voice quite firm despite the fact that she hardly knows what she’s saying.  And still the words pour out, “Come with me.  Come to the Marshlands.  Why on Earth should you stay another day here?”

“I... This... this is our home.”

“This place is poison!  Please, Rumpelstiltskin, pack whatever you need, and come with me.  I’ll find you a house- hell, you can come to the castle.  Spin thread for my ladies-in-waiting.  For me.”

“You don’t know...  My thread might not be good enough.”

“I don’t care.  My cart can hold anything you want to bring, as long as it’s ready to go by dawn.  Will you come?”

The hopeful gleam has returned, and it’s gained a wild edge.  And yet he cinches his lips and steps away.  “I need to think.  Please...”  His gaze falls again on Baelfire.

“All right.”  Belle glances around, and quickly realizes she can only give them true privacy by leaving entirely.  So she pulls up her hood and steps outside, though she isn’t quite honorable enough not to peek through the window as Rumpelstiltskin kneels by his son and gently wakes him.

She watches the boy’s face as Rumpelstiltskin explains, sees confusion and wary hope so similar to his father’s it makes her breath catch.  She wants them to agree.  If she had to give up all her dreams of travel, she would if she got to bring these two home.  So when Baelfire nods, and beams with excitement, and throws his arms around Rumpelstiltskin’s shoulders, she really can’t help the cry of joy that bursts from between her lips.  The pair start and look in her direction.  She sheepishly waves, and Rumpelstiltskin gestures for her to re-enter.

Baelfire’s excitement has dulled with caution as he asks, “Do you really mean it, my lady?  We can come with you?”

“Yes, I mean it.  With all my heart.  As long as that’s what you want.”

“I’ll miss my friends,” he murmurs.

“I’m sure that’s true,” Belle concedes, “You’re welcome to write to them.  Or have them visit.”

“They can’t come with us.”

Guilt pricks at Belle’s heart.  There are more decent people suffering here than Baelfire and Rumpelstiltskin.  As she realized earlier, any help she can provide will never be enough.  “I’ll tell you what.  When we get home, we’ll tell my father what the duke has been up to.  And he can tell our king.  I’m not sure what can be done after that, but it’s worth trying, don’t you think?”

Baelfire considers this, and nods.  To his father he says, “We should pack now, right?”

“Yes.  You know what though, I got you these as a special midwinter gift.”  Rumpelstiltskin reaches into a pocket and takes out a small bag.  Baelfire grins as he finds it’s full of honey candies.  “What if, before we leave, we go round to your friends’ houses and give them a treat to remember us by?”

“Yeah!” Baelfire responds, once more lighting up with excitement.

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Belle says, and basks in the smile Rumpelstiltskin gives her.

The pair stand and Belle joins them in collecting in one pile what they’ll need to start a new life in the Marshlands.  They work on the assumption that they’ll have their own home.  As much as Belle would love to see them every day in the castle, she can’t guarantee an immediate welcome from her father.  In fact, it might be somewhat tricky to install them in a house pretty much upon arrival.  This could end up being quite a large mistake.  Belle shoves away the fear.  She’s going to do the brave thing for Rumpel and Bae.  It’s been decided.

At one point, Belle sets down a beautifully woven blanket, and sways as exhaustion catches up with her.  A pair of warm hands light on her arms, holding her steady.

“Here now, you’ve had hardly any rest at all, eh?”

Belle looks over her shoulder and promptly drowns in Rumpelstiltskin’s deep dark eyes.  “Um, no, I suppose not.  Neither have you.”

He shrugs, and tragically lets his hands fall away.  “We’re used to it.  But I’d say we’ve done enough for now.  Come, let’s get a little sleep.”

She’s too delighted by a hand pressed to her back to notice that he’s leading her to a bed.  “Oh, I can sleep by the fire, you needn’t give up your- ah...”

“Hush.  I’m still your escort, am I not?  I’ll be fine.”

Belle begrudgingly consents to unlacing her boots and curling up in Rumpelstiltskin’s bed.  She’s asleep by the time a thick blanket settles over her.

She drifts through a world of darkness for a long while, and then is sharply wrenched back to reality by a clatter of cups on the floor.

“Bae, careful!” Rumpelstiltskin chides in a whisper.

“Sorry, Papa.”

Belle lifts her head and peers at the nearest window.  Is the world outside a shade lighter than before?  _Gods, what time is it?_

She bolts up and gropes around for her boots.  “How long did I sleep?  I need- we need... Oh dear...”

“It’s not dawn yet,” Rumpelstiltskin assures her.

“That’s good, but...  Gods, I have no idea where Bernard is.”  How foolish could she be- running off from the bonfire after Rumpelstiltskin without a single thought as to where her coachman would rest?  Well, she’s paying for it now, as the only thing she can think to do is sneak amongst the houses until she finds him.  It’s a damn good thing she never intends to visit Hollyhock again.  Hastily lacing her boots, she tells Rumpelstiltskin, “I’m going to figure out where Bernard ended up and bring him back here with the cart.  Why don’t you and Bae deliver the treats for his friends?  Then we’ll leave.”

“Very well.  Be careful.”

Belle exchanges smiles with Rumpelstiltskin, then finishes with her boots and grabs her cloak.  Before reaching the door, Baelfire calls out, “Wait!”

She pauses, “Yes?”

“Here.  Sorry I woke you up.”  He hands her a candy.

“I think you did at just the right time actually, but thanks for this.”  She tucks it into a pocket and flicks up her hood, then hurries off into the night.

Once her eyes have adjusted to the dark, she first goes to the stable in the faint hope Bernard bedded down with the horses.  No such luck, and seeing the dozing animals reminds her that she’s clueless about hitching them to a cart.  Perhaps Rumpelstiltskin and Baelfire are better educated, but she can’t rely on that.  She presses on, poking her head through any door that isn’t latched, calling for Bernard and wincing at the ensuing silence.

She comes to a certain house, and this time when she calls a grunt answers her.  She hasn’t learned much about Bernard in their time together, but she has learned to recognize his grunts.  Wincing harder than ever, she pads into the house.  She soon comes upon a bed that contains her missing coachman, quite cozily entwined with no one but Arda.  Belle decides to be glad they’re asleep and mostly dressed, and gives Bernard’s shoulder a poke.  He grunts again and tucks himself a little closer to Arda.  Belle lets out a sigh.

“Hello?”

The sigh chokes off into a gasp as she whips around to see a tiny blonde girl blinking enormous eyes up at her.  Belle twists her face into a smile and drops into a crouch. “Hello, dearie, how are you?” she whispers.

The girl points over Belle’s shoulder.  “Funny man in Mama’s bed.”

Belle fights to keep her smile from becoming a rictus.  “Yes, there is.  I’m here to collect him.  What’s your name?”

“Cynthi.”

“Well, Cynthi, have you been a good girl this year?”

She nods.

“I’m glad.  Here, since you’ve been so very good, have a sweet.”  She scoops Baelfire’s gift from her pocket and presents it to Cynthi, who snatches it up and jams it in her mouth.  “All right then.  Why don’t you go back to sleep, and I’ll take care of the funny man?  It’s time for good little girls to be in bed.”

“Mmhmph,” Cynthi replies around her mouthful of honey.  She toddles off, and Belle sags with relief.  She rises and turns, and discovers Bernard’s eyes are open and tracking the child until she’s out of sight.  Then he carefully extricates himself from Arda’s embrace.  Belle grabs his boots from the floor and shoves one on his foot while he handles the other.  As quickly as possible, they make their escape from Arda’s house.

By the time the horses are hitched and the cart is loaded with Rumpelstiltskin, Baelfire, and their possessions, the eastern sky is tinged gray and pink.  Belle leans back in her seat beside Bernard and asks, “Ready?”

“Ready!” Baelfire shouts.  Rumpelstiltskin simply nods, and smiles.  The cart heads down the road, and Belle whistles the fiddler’s tune as they go.

At this time next year, the ogres will have retreated, and the people of Hollyhock will believe the Midwinter Lady’s visit blessed them with good fortune.  Her legend will grow and change into a spirit in a fur-trimmed red cloak that brings gifts to all good children on midwinter night.  She’s accompanied by a hog-faced man who slumbers in the beds of rude adults.  Another known compatriot is a scaly, limping imp who beats naughty children with his wooden staff and whisks them away, never to be seen again.  The years pass, and the truth of these legends melts from common knowledge like winter snow come spring.


End file.
